


Goretober

by analog_romeo



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, Amputation, Angst, Animal Sacrifice, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Caught while masturbating, Child Abuse, Cruel and unusual punishment, Daddy Kink, Demon Summoning, Demonic Possession, Dysphoria, Eating Disorders, Established Relationship, F/M, Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Human Experimentation, Impalement, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Incest, Internalized Transphobia, Kinky, Knifeplay, M/M, Monster Bill Cipher, Necrophilia, Obsession, One-Sided Attraction, Orgasm Denial, Other, Ownership, Pedophilia, Sadistic Shit, Self-Harm, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Torture, Short Chapters, Slurs, Surgery, The Mindscape, Trans Male Character, Unrequited Lust, Vomiting, challenge, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-18 23:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 31
Words: 18,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8180060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/analog_romeo/pseuds/analog_romeo
Summary: Fic version of Junirat's October art challenge. Tags will be added as necessary.





	1. Excessive Gashes/Lacerations

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Goretober Challenge](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/232319) by Junirat [Tumblr]. 



There comes a point where talking about your dysphoria gets repetitive. You’ve posted about it so much online that you just seem whiny and desperate for attention.

Mason Pines was at that point. It felt like even his twin sister was tired of hearing about it.

Plus, there were certain things he couldn’t tell Mabel. Like the sexual side of his dysphoria - that’s not something you can share with your sister.

The way he’d claw at his breasts because no gay man would ever love them, and any straight girl who wanted him would just pity him. It made him gag just to think about. People who are attracted to men are attracted to dick. No one would ever genuinely want to fuck him or be fucked by him.

Dipper laughed at the thought as he dragged a blade along his inner thigh. Tonight was the night he could finally self-indulge. It was three in the morning and he was all alone in the bathroom, sprawled out naked with a small selection of knives.

_And no one would ever know._

He set the small, used blade aside and picked up a medium sized kitchen knife. His breath haltered at the sight of the sleek, sharp tip. Eagerly he spread his legs and tightened his grip on the handle.

Dipper held his knee with one hand and with the other lightly pressed the blade of the knife to the low inside of his thigh. In one quick motion he put heavy pressure on the dull end, and winced slightly at the rush of blood and rip of pain. When he pulled back, though, he moaned.

He angled the bloody knife an inch above the gaping gash. He repeated this several times until he was soaked with blood. His thighs weren’t the problem, though.

The boy grabbed a different, smaller knife and held it against his crotch, just above the fold. Without a second thought he sunk it into the skin until he couldn’t push it anymore. He made short, quick cuts all the way down each lip, letting the hairy skin pool with crimson. It burned but he didn’t care. His vagina was disgusting and fucking deserved it.

Dipper next grabbed a knife the same size and with his other hand, squeezed the fat at his bare stomach. Angrily he dug the blade into it, gagging at the disgusting flab that sat at his waist. The way it shaped his body like the girl he was.

He had no intention of cutting it off, just cutting repulsed, furious stripes into it. Once he was finished with that, he grabbed one of the few knives that hadn’t been doused in blood and climbed to his feet.

The boy felt like vomitting at the sight of himself. His uneven, misshapen breasts. Ready to get it on with, he picked one up below the nipple and lifted it up, pressing the sharp end of the knife to the fold where it met the skin. In one movement he forced it through the skin and groaned. He made inhuman, disgusted noises as he tore at his skin.

He lifted the blade just below his nipple and sheared violently, cutting both horizontally and vertically, not caring how much blood fell to the tile floor. He’d sop it up later.

Dipper messily exchanged hands, nicking himself carelessly in the effort and gave the same treatment to his other breast before chucking the knife to the ground. He gave his reflection a good hard look, satisfied with the ripped open gashes plastered across his pale skin. This is what he deserved.

Bile rose in his throat. No one would ever call him Mason. He’d be stuck with his humiliating nickname the rest of his life, as opposed to his birth name, which was worse. Not even his sister, who he considered his best friend, would attempt to adapt to it.

Mason looked long and hard at himself, his cuts starting to peel as the blood ran down his nude figure. This is what his body deserved.


	2. Extra Limbs/Eyes/Etc

It had been two years since the Pines family stopped the apocalypse.

Dipper Pines was nearly fifteen now.

At the age of thirteen Dipper realized his obsession with Bill Cipher. He’d unknowingly started to go through a similar infatuation to the Author - choosing triangle-themed decor for his room, now separate from his sister’s; unthinkingly drawing eyeballs whenever he had a pen in his hand.

It went a step farther when he started to have dreams with Bill’s figure in them.

Some dreams he would be in the room he and Mabel shared in Oregon, almost everything diluted except the moonlight shining from the window--triangle shaped with a circular outline in the middle. It still hadn’t dawned on him what he was seeing.

Weeks later these dreams became more provocative. At first it was just like before, but this time instead of sitting still and cross-legged, he was nude and sprawled on the floor. He had his hand tucked between his legs, lightly rubbing over his clit as his naked, sweaty skin gleamed in the faint light.

He thought nothing of these dreams. It was normal for a thirteen year old boy to have sex dreams.

Dipper started to grow concerned when these dreams were accompanied by whispered. This time the dream came in fragments, the sounds of him gasping and short glimpses of his fingers working away. Nothing could outshine the growing need to cum, but he couldn’t. He hung on the edge to the sound of familiar whispers, not being able to make any words out.

If anything, it sounded like a mix of words in reverse. But he knew who that voice belonged to.

The next morning he went to Mabel, the only person in Piedmont who would understand.

“I’m worried, Mabel. But you have to promise you won’t tell anyone, especially not Stan or great uncle Ford.”

“I promise, just tell me,”

Dipper sighed. “I don’t want to go in detail, but I think I’m having dreams about Bill again.”

“Where you see him?”

“No, I just hear him.”

“What is he saying?”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem.”

She knitted her eyebrows together. “What do you mean?”

“It’s like, not coherent. It sounds like it’s backwards.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “I don’t know how to help, but tell me if it gets worse. If it gets really bad, Dipper, I _have_ to tell someone. Grunkle Ford might be the only person who knows how to help.”

“I know,” he groaned. “I’ll let you know if it gets worse. Just keep it under wraps for right now, okay?”

Dipper’s sister smiled and held out her pinky. “I promise.”

* * *

The next time Dipper had a dream with Bill in it, he could almost see him. This time, he could see Bill’s shadow on the wall, as he floated freely and twirled his cane.

The soft sound of his voice was still garbled, and more than anything else, Dipper needed to cum. His hands were near shaking as he wrecked his aching pussy.

Finally, Dipper could make something out. “That’s it, Pine Tree.”

Dipper woke up gasping for air, still being cut short of orgasm.

* * *

He was _obsessed_. Infatuated was an understatement.

Every time Dipper got a chance to touch himself he’d imagine Bill’s voice saying dirty things. _Oh god, this was wrong._

For starters, this was a chaos demon who tried to destroy him. His entire family. His entire town. _The entire world._

Bill had barely spoken to the boy, and when he did, aside from _one time_ where he manipulated him, it was a threat.

It felt wrong, so fucking wrong, but that voice rang in his ears and made his clit hard. The idea of this entity having power over him, manipulating him to do whatever his heart so desired.

It was maddening.

But not once did these thoughts make him stop indulging. He would sneak into the bathroom late at night and lock himself in there, fingering over his clit to the imaginary sound of _”Yes, that’s it Pine Tree, cum for me baby, that’s a good boy.”_

* * *

Dipper was almost fifteen now.

These dreams had become much less frequent, but his lust was just as powerful.

Recently he had the fleeting glimpse of memories he tried to repress as he raked his brain for more visuals of Bill. _That one time he tried to kill him and Mabel._

Instead of panic setting in at the memory, he remembered the demon’s sharp, jagged teeth and multiple tongues. The several monstrous arms.

His breath quickened and his heart started to race. All the heat in his body pooled between his legs and his mind wouldn’t stop. Suddenly an image painted in his head of all those arms all over him. One to hold down each of his arms and legs as he thrashed, another to cover his mouth and pry it open. One to tear all his clothes off as Bill’s voice echoed brash across the room.

Dipper was sitting in a living room chair. His parents were at work and Mabel was out with friends; she’d be home any minute now. But the space between his legs was getting damp. He quickly shoved a hand down the front of his pants.

He pressed the pads of his fingers on top of his clit and raced them up and down. The boy imagined one of those arms gripping over his crotch and a giant finger thrusting into his cunt. He breathed heavily as he sank into himself.

Any minute now someone could walk in and that just added to the excitement. He pretended Bill was there, taunting him, calling him disgusting.

He imagined multiple tongues grazing over his body and Bill hungrily took him into himself. Dipper moaned out loud; everything was too much.

The boy was too far into his headspace. Bill was all over him.

“Yes-- yes-- Bill-- fuck--”

In the driveway he could hear Mabel walking up the steps. He couldn’t stop now, he was too far gone. _But that means Mabel will see me._ He didn’t care.

He lifted his hips up to meet the time of Bill’s imaginary thrusts, the feeling of Dipper’s own fingers just enough to push him over the edge.

Keys jangled as the doorknob unlocked and turned. “Nnh, ugh,”

The door opened wide and Mabel ran in just in time to see her brother in a not too flattering position, sweat-drenched and wanton.

“Oh, Bill,”

He swallowed hard and shuddered, his orgasm sending shockwaves all over his body.

Mabel was quick to react, making a long, drawn-out sound of disgust. “Oh, Dipper, I’m so sorry,” she sputtered, fake-gagging and walking into the kitchen.

Dipper fell back onto the couch, without a care in the world.


	3. Surgery

From his backpack in the corner of the room, Dipper could hear his walkie-talkie signalling in. Staticy transmission, and then Ford’s voice.

“Hey Dipper, I need you downstairs.”

Dipper immediately dropped what he was doing and eagerly ran out of his room. He loved helping his great uncle Ford whenever he needed him.

“What is it, great uncle Ford?” he asked as he was coming down the stairs to the basement.

He didn’t get an immediate response. When he went into the Author’s lab, he found Ford had a very expressionless look on his face.

“Ah, there you are. Hurry up now, we haven’t much time time to waste.”

“Wh-what? What are we doing, Grunkle Ford?”

His demeanor didn’t change. “Just some experiments, nothing big. Now, Dipper, if you could undress for me.”

Dipper’s face when ghost white and his eyes widened in a panic. “What? _Why?_ ” He started to sweat hard.

“Standard procedure for surgery.”

“Su-- _surgery?!_ ”

“Yes, Dipper. There’ll be anesthetics, of course. Now relax, boy.”

The sound of the Author’s voice relaxed him immensely, but the situation still made him anxious. For some reason, the thought of undressing in front of Ford scared him more than the thought of being operated on.

“Uh, o-okay.” He cleared his throat before starting to pull his shirt over his head. “How much do you want me to take off?” he awkwardly stammered.

“Just down to your underwear,” he replied, calm as ever.

Dipper wondered how he was able to stay so unfazed. Shaking now, he kicked his shoes off and tried to undo his shorts with his fidgeting fingers. _Oh god,_ he thought, _the Author’s gonna see me naked._ His heart raced and he felt lightheaded.

At last the thirteen-year-old was able to drop his pants, which pooled at his ankles. His face burned red and his pubescent erection stood tall. He covered himself, but not before Ford got a look at the tent in his underwear. Dipper blushed furiously.

He didn’t see the hidden smirk when the man turned to put on rubber gloves.

Ford pulled out a surgical table and tapped on it, as if to motion for Dipper to sit down. He did as directed, trying to calm himself. His hands stayed crossed over his crotch.

After waiting a few minutes, Ford placed a mask over the boy’s face, applying the anesthesia. He pulled open a drawer and grabbed some tools, setting them on a table beside the cot. The Author cracked his knuckles, then reached over Dipper.

He was too sleepy to ask what Ford was doing, but came to realize he was fastening the boy’s limbs in place. Dipper faintly began to panic, but he was being lulled to sleep.

Carefully, the man picked out a scalpel and pressed the tip ever so lightly against the skin of the boy’s torso. He made a long, horizontal incision, then wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his glove.

Then he laughed.

Dipper swallowed hard, much too atent for someone being numbed and put under.

“Great Uncle Ford?”

The man laughed, much harder this time. He carelessly smeared blood on his face with the glove. Cackling madly, he tore his glasses off, revealing piercing yellow eyes.

Dipper’s mouth dropped open instantly. He wanted to scream, but he was voiceless from shock.

“I got ya now, kid,”

That was still Ford’s voice, but it definitely wasn’t Ford.

“What did you do to my uncle?!”

“He’s fine, Pine Tree,” Bill assured, his smirk audible from his tone.

“What did you do to him?” he asked, firmly.

“I promise I didn’t hurt Fordsy. I can’t say the same about you, though,” he snickered.

Dipper started flailing in his restraints. “Let me--go!” The belt tight around his wrists and ankles burned against his skin.

“Oh, not today, Dip.” He inched in closer to the young teen, the bloody scalpel just centimeters away from his face. “Don’t think I don’t see what’s going on,” he whispered.

“What?” Dipper yelped, still panic-stricken.

“Don’t play dumb, kid. You’ve got it bad for your _uncle_. You even got hard at the prospect of stripping naked for him, having your body at his mercy. You sick fuck.”

He writhed at the belt binding him to the table. “Yeah? Well, you’re not Ford. You just have his body.”

“No, I’m not,” Bill agreed, lowering himself to make further incisions to the boy’s abdomen. “But he’s still fully conscious in the mindscape.”

He dug Ford’s gloved hand into the open cavity. “ _And he can see all of this._ ”

Dipper screamed violently, trying to get someone, _anyone_ in the house to hear him, but before he could continue, he blacked out.


	4. Torture

One day when Dipper and Ford were playing Dungeons in the lab, the Author brought up the idea of sexual experimentation.

“Dipper, I’ve wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Sure, great-uncle Ford. What’s up?”

“Being my apprentice, you’re always my first choice when I need to try something out with someone. Some of these things are more dangerous than others.”

Dipper nodded. “Uh-huh,” he punctuated, waiting for his uncle to continue.

Ford adjusted his glasses. “There are some more adult experiments I’ve been wanting to test, about human capacity in certain situations. I don’t know if you’d be up for it,”

The boy reacted immediately. “No, no! I can handle it!” he assured.

“Dipper, my boy,” Ford sighed. “I want to take a very scientific approach with this. This has nothing to do with feelings, just research.”

He was lost again. “What are the experiments, exactly?”

“They’re sexual experiments, Dipper. I want to research the effects of orgasm denial in different age groups. No younger than thirteen, so you’d be the perfect candidate.”

He swallowed hard, feeling his stomach drop. Of course he wanted in, but not for “scientific” reasons. He just wondered how much this was gonna fuck with him.

“What about… legal stuff? I’m fourteen, you’re… sixty?”

Ford laughed. “Again, this is just for research. And, besides, there’s confidentiality about the identity of each person being studied. No one will know it’s _you_ except me.”

“Okay,” Dipper took a deep breath. “I’m ready. I wanna do this.” _For all the wrong reasons._

“Splendid,” he clapped his hands together. “We’ll start tomorrow morning.”

* * *

_September 28_

_Day one of experiments in sexual frustration. I have Mason bound spreadeagle in my laboratory. Results of experiment one to be logged._

“For our first test, I’ll unfasten one of your arms, and I want you to masturbate until you’re about to reach orgasm. Stop before you climax,” Ford warned.

Dipper was still nerve-wracked. Jesus, he was about to jerk off in front of his uncle. And not just any uncle, but _The Author_. He swallowed hard, nodding. “I’m ready.”

“Excellent.” He undid the binding on his arm and stepped back, turning back to his notes. “You may now begin.”

It was so informal and awkward, but Dipper could feel his heartbeat at his throat. He reached for his dick, which was already hard - it had been since Ford tied his arms and legs. He started pumping, his face warm from arousal and embarrassment.

The fact that Ford wasn’t watching made it a lot easier. He was already so close to cumming just from adrenaline and the situation he was in. He moaned and gasped, the sensation heightened by the fact that Ford could hear the noises he was making.

Ford was _right in front of him_.

“Nnh, aah,” he jerked his cock faster, looking his uncle up and down. _God,_ he was so _hot,_ , and he was _right there._ “Shit, fuck-- great uncle Ford,”

“Yes, Dipper?”

His face flushed and a chill washed over him. “I’m gonna cum,” he squeaked.

Ford knelt down in front of him, which practically pushed Dipper over the edge. He grabbed Dipper’s wrist, stilling it, and pulled it away from his strained, twitching cock.

He bound his arm again, and then sat down in front of his desk, logging in his journal.

_The boy shows sign of irritation. He displays a repetitive, stim-like behavior; bouncing on his feel and clenching and unclenching his fist._

“You did good, Dipper,” he praised, unhooking the ropes around his limbs. “We’re doing this again first thing tomorrow morning, alright?”

“Yeah,” Dipper agreed, impatient.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he added, putting the journal away. “No touching yourself outside of this experiment, until I say so. Got it?”

Dipper’s face crumpled. He opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. “Okay,” he grunted.

He put his clothes on and headed back upstairs.

* * *

_October 2_

_Day five. I’ve decided to change the routine up slightly for today’s trial. So far every morning prior to these trials, except the first one, Mason’s shown up very eager to strip and masturbate. Today I plan on assisting him in approaching orgasm._

_Today, like the last few days, he showed up bouncing on the balls of feet, speaking much too fast - obviously excited for sexual release. I wonder how much longer he can take this._

“Strip,” Ford ordered.

Dipper dropped his pants almost immediately. His erection started to rise, throbbing as it lifted.

Ford knelt in front of him again, tying his hands above his head. “I thought we could try something different today,” he said, taking the boy’s hips in his hands. Dipper’s erection swelled until it strained against his stomach.

“Great uncle Ford,” he moaned. “What are you doing?”

“You tell me right before you hit orgasm, got it?”

“What?” Dipper asked.

Ford wrapped two fingers and his thumb around Dipper’s tiny cock, stroking it gently up and down the shaft.

“Ohhh,” Dipper moaned loudly. “Ford, oh my god,”

He sped up the pace, causing Dipper to shift his hips forward.

“Ford, Jesus, oh my god--don’t stop,” he bit hard on his lip. “Oh my god, yes, yes, yes--shit,”

Dipper lost all his senses and suddenly he couldn’t get enough words out.

“Rub the tip, please, ohmygod,” he blushed furiously. Ford did as requested and Dipper whimpered. “Ohh, fuck, great uncle Ford--”

Everything was too much, all at once. Suddenly heat pooled over everywhere that Ford was touching.

“I’m gonna cum, shit, shit, I’m gonna cum--”

Ford pulled off and backed away, pulling out his journal and recording in it.

Dipper let out a whine, his cock throbbing hard and precum dripping. “No,” he almost sobbed. “Fuck, I was so close that time,”

Suddenly Dipper’s body gave out and he broke down. He started to cry, and eventually it turned into full-out bawling.

Hot tears streamed down his cheeks and he weakly rocked his hips forward. “Please,” he begged. “This is torture. Grunkle Ford, please,”

He stopped writing for a second to look Dipper in the eyes. He finished writing then closed the journal, pushing it away. “Please what?”

Dipper sobbed. “Please, Grunkle Ford, please let me cum,” he cried and he blubbered and he tried to drop down to his knees but the binding wouldn’t let him. “Please, I wanna cum,” he sniveled, his voice breaking.

Ford pulled himself closer to the boy and sighed, more playfully than out of irritation. He took Dipper’s needy cock into his fingers and started to pump it, resulting in louder crying, but this time out of relief. He continued to jerk it until Dipper was beyond himself, thrusting messily into his uncle’s hand and whimpering desperately.

“Please, please, pleasepleaseplease,” snot dripped from the young teen’s nose. “Please let me cum,” he begged, his voice barely audible.

He almost screamed at the intensity when he shot hot cum on Ford’s shirt, whimpering from the sensitivity, the long days of edging.

Ford undid the bindings on his wrists and pulled his pants up, taking the boy into his arms and rubbing his back comfortingly as he sniffled into his shoulder. He gently brought him upstairs and set him into his bed, kissing his forehead and shutting off the light.

_After five brutal days of experimentation, Mason broke down and cried, begging like a child to orgasm. I let him do so, concluding the experiment._


	5. Amputation

There’s a secret door in the room where the evil Morty kept other versions of himself hostage.

Anyone they saw go in never came back out. Most Morty Smiths from other timelines were lucky enough to never have to go through this door.

One of the few times the door opened, the leader of the hostages peeked out. Then he stepped out, hands behind his back - apathetic and collected, as usual.

“Morty Smith, earth dimension A-129.”

He waited, blinking his uncovered eye.

Finally one of the hostages stepped up, nervous and fidgeting.

“Come with me,” he spoke, emotionless as ever.

The other teen hesitantly followed, the door shutting loudly behind him.

In the room was a chair, with bindings on the armrests and legs. The floors were dirty concrete that looked water-stained, and the walls were white and stripped. Beside the chair was a medical table, and a cot. An empty cage sat in the corner, and the dim light weakly flickered.

“Take a seat,” the leader said.

“Wh-why?” A-129 asked.

“Don’t question me, Smith,” he said firmly. “Take a seat or I’ll _make you_ take a seat.”

With no other option, A-129 sat down.

Morty immediately strapped his wrists down, before tying his ankles to the legs of the chair. The bound boy instantly began to struggle.

“Calm down, now. There’s nothing you can do to stop this.”

Involuntarily, A-129 began to cry. “Wh-what are you going to do to me?”

Morty picked two rubber gloves out from a drawer in the medical table, pulling them on. “Just relax. There have been countless other Mortys before you.”

He wriggled desperately anyway. _”What are you going to do to me?”_

The boy standing above him cracked a smirk. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Morty pulled on the bottom drawer of the medical table and pulled out a rusty handsaw. The boy in the chair screamed frantically, writhing in his restraints but unable to loosen the bindings or turn the chair on itself.

He could hear the taller boy’s knuckles cracking through his gloved fist. He put this hand down on A-129′s left arm, his grip strong but not painful. He touched the teeth of the saw to the other’s skin, just enough so he could feel it. Then he abruptly pressed it down hard, ripping through the skin and causing A-129 to scream violently.

Morty started sawing into the boy’s flesh as though he were cutting through tough meat. Blood sprinkled onto his face. He worked the sharp tool through the muscle until he heard grinding as it reached bone.

A-129 screamed through gritted teeth, straining so hard that he was about to blow a blood vessel in his face.

Pulling the now bloody saw back, he dropped it carelessly to the ground and bent down to the bottom drawer again. He pulled out a smaller bone saw, aligning it with the deep gash already just above the boy’s elbow. Morty gripped it tight, holding down the boy’s forearm with his other hand, then started to work it back and forth.

Finally the grinding sound ceased and there was only a sizeable layer of muscle left. Instead of switching tools again, Morty finished off the limb with the bone saw, setting it back down on the ground after cutting completely through it.

He retrieved a couple more things from a drawer, then tied a tourniquet in the middle of A-129′s bicep. With a short rope he bound the now stump of an arm to the side of the chair. Morty then undid the binding on the lifeless, disconnected arm, dropping it into a puddle of blood that had pooled on the floor under the chair.

A-129 finally stopped screaming, breathing harsh and tears blurring his vision.

Morty pulled out another short rope and tourniquet. “Oh, don’t think I’m done with you yet,” he laughed.

The boy in the chair let out another bloodcurdling scream.

After what seemed like hours, Smith finished cutting off his other arm and tying the stump of it down to the chair.

“I’ve experimented with amputation before,” he said nonchalantly.

Grinding his teeth, A-129 made inhuman noises.

“I’ve experimented with lots of other Morty Smiths before.”

His breathing took off when he felt the cold, bloody glove pressing against his skin again--this time on his thigh.

“You’re gonna be the first who gets all four of their limbs amputated.”

He screamed when he felt the bone saw press against his leg.


	6. Cannibalism

_Infinite timelines, infinite possibilities._

In one timeline Rick is a careless, alcoholic, nihilist grandfather that only openly gives a shit about his daughter and secretly gives a shit about his daughter’s son. He’s a space criminal and a pessimistic realist and he takes his grandson on interdimensional adventures almost every day.

In another timeline, Rick never even had Beth. He ended up staying with a humanoid alien boyfriend, and they settled after the fame of Rick’s band died down. Rick ended up a washed up rockstar with a longtime boyfriend.

In other timelines he’s an award winning scientist that found the cure for cancer. That discovered what really happens in a black hole. That found out what _really_ happens after you die.

In countless others he dies before thirty. Some are suicides. Some are the result of his spaceship crashing. In some he’s murdered, in others he’s killed on accident.

Some timelines he watches Morty die and lives with the grief for the rest of his life. In others he doesn’t even know Morty exists, after abandoning his daughter and never coming back in contact with her.

And in one timeline, Rick _wants_ Morty. He wants him so bad that he’ll go to obsessive, psychotic measures to have him. He’ll freeze his parents and his sister in time so he can keep him caged in his basement and never let him out, unless it’s to use his body.

He feeds him like a pet, cleans him in his cage, and gives him treats when he makes his master cum. Rick falls asleep in his bed upstairs every night after jacking himself off to the thought of Morty writhing in pain, within the hands of his master. _His master._

In this timeline Rick keeps a computer in his bedroom, where he’s connected to the deep web and is active in many forums. He saves pictures and videos of snuff and gets off to flesh tearing and organs spilling. He has an account on several different illegal porn sites and forums, buying and trading pictures of children. Morty has no idea.

He thinks about different things he’d do with his pet. The only issue is he only has one Morty, so he has to make his decision wisely.

One day he stumbles upon a cannibal recipe site - detailing all the different ways to cook human meat. Rick imagines his pet being cut apart and eaten, and he can feel his dick throbbing in his briefs.

He puts a hand down his pants and starts to rub his cock, getting heatwaves at the thought of it. Soon he pulls his pants down and jacks off until he cums on his stomach. He knows _exactly_ what he's going to do with his one Morty.

* * *

Rick flipped the basement light on and off. “Morty, Master’s here,”

The boy perked up, and Rick unlocked the cage, opening the door and petting Morty.

“Master’s got a great idea today. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Master.”

“I’ve trained you well.”

Rick tapped his thigh, signalling for Morty to come out. He did as told, following his master.

“Rest your arm here,” he said, placing his hand on a counter.

Morty set his arm down, and his master opened a cupboard, pulling some supplies out. He wrapped a tourniquet around the boy’s shoulder and shyly set the blade of a handsaw just below it.

“R--Rick, what are you doing?”

“What did you call me?” Rick snapped.

Morty instantly winced. “I’m sorry, Master,”

“That’s right,” Rick said, started to saw into Morty’s arm.

The boy bit his lip and started to groan in pain. Rick’s pants grew tight at the sound. “You’re being a wonderful boy for Master.”

Even in pain Morty moaned at the praise.

Rick made sure he drew out the process for as long as possible, his dick twitching whenever his pet made a loud sound of distress. There was minimal blood loss, but what did escape only fueled his fire.

Once he finished severing the limb, he kissed Morty’s forehead.

“You go back into your cage and take a nap, you must be so tired,” he cooed gently. Morty nodded and followed his Master’s directions.

Rick picked up the arm and carried it with him to the staircase. “Master’s going upstairs to cook this. If you want, I’ll bring leftovers to you for a snack.”

Morty nodded sleepily.

“Sleep well, my beautiful pet.” Rick flipped the light off and made his way upstairs, his hard-on aching and his mouth watering.


	7. Gut Spill

“Wake up, Shooting Star.”

Mabel’s eyes fluttered open. The room around her was drained of color.

“Am I dreaming?”

The demon floated down into view. “You tell me,” he spoke, spinning his cane.

She threw her blankets to the side and sat up in bed, narrowing her eyes. “Bill,” she spat.  
“Aww, don’t be so bitter, sweetheart,”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” she yelled, furious at his condescending tone. “You tried to kill my whole family.”

He laughed. “Yeah, yeah; we all make mistakes.”

Mabel was ready to scream. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing that’ll affect you outside of the mindscape,

She sputtered, confused. "The what?”

Bill tapped the greyed wall with his cane. “The mindscape. What we’re in right now,”

“You did this to Dipper before, right?” her voice wavered. She wasn’t in control anymore. “You went into his dreams, gave him nightmares, stuff like that.” It came out more as a question than a statement.

“Mhm,” he sang.

“Okay, then tell me. What do you want?”

The demon floated over and stroked her cheek. “Why must you assume I always have bad intentions?”

“Because that’s all you’ve ever had.”

“My, my. You’ve got me all wrong, Shooting Star.” He backed away only slightly. “If you must know the truth, I’ve been watching you. I haven’t stopped watching you since I first saw you, and I must say, for a mortal skin-puppet, you’re a _very_ aesthetically pleasing one.”

Mabel blushed in both flattery and embarrassment. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re gorgeous, and I wanna play with that body of yours.”

She scoffed, appalled. “Ew. You know I’m fourteen, right?”

“Time’s merely a human concept. And I’ve already said - this is the mindscape. None of this will leave here,”

“You’re not even _human_. What do you think you’re going to do with me?”

Bill thrust a hand into her stomach, grabbing whatever he could, and pulling it out. Mabel’s eyes teared up on impact. “Something like that.”

Her voice broke. She fell over onto her knees, grabbing at her torn open stomach. “Wh... why?”

“Because you’re pretty, and your insides are too.” Bill laughed madly, fading away into the mindscape.


	8. Ritualistic Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some heavy family shit went down yesterday and I don't wanna go into detail but I didn't have access to a computer until now, which is why I'm updating late. I'll be posting both 8 and 9 today. Sorry for the wait.

Dipper knelt down to an empty patch of dirt, alone in the woods. He pulled his backpack off and threw it down next to him, opening it up and pulling out a pocket knife.

He was infatuated. He was lovestruck.

Flicking it open, he pulled back the sleeve of his sweater and sliced his wrist, letting the blood dribble and flow into a bowl. Once there was a decent amount, he pulled out a roll of bandages from his backpack and wrapped the wound.

He was obsessed.

After dipping two fingers into the bowl, he began to paint the outline of a triangle on the packed dirt. He went over it another time to make sure the blood was coated thick. Anything for his Muse.

He retrieved three candles and a box of matches from his backpack. Carefully, he set one at each corner of the sigil, and set the box down next to him.

Now was the hard part.

But he promised himself he’d do it. He’d been planning it for days. Anything for his Muse.

It seemed like a full forty minutes before Dipper finally found a doe. He crept up behind the animal, which had laid down on the forest floor and shut its eyes. _He only had one shot._ Dipper pulled his arm back and pierced through the back of the deer’s neck, stunning it.

He sighed in relief when it didn’t get up and run. He turned the corpse around and slit its throat, letting it bleed out for a couple minutes, then dragging the carcass back to the area he planned on making the sacrifice.

Dipper set the small deer down on the triangle in the dirt, then pulled out a match, striking it lit on the box. Gently he lit the three candles, then shook the match out, dropping it at his feet.

The late teen opened up his uncle’s journal and flipped it to the page on his Muse. Crisply, he began to recite the incantation:

_“Triangulum, entangulum. Veneforis dominus ventium. Veneforis venetisarium.”_

He dropped to his knees, eyes glowing white.

Anything for his Muse.


	9. Monster Form

Bill was dating Dipper, but only in the mindscape.

In the mindscape Bill could take on any form he wanted. Most importantly, his form was physical - so he could be affectionate with Dipper.

Most of their affection was sexual. Sometimes they kissed. Sometimes they held hands. But most of the time, they just fucked.

Kinky shit was Bill’s specialty. Dipper would find some obscure or disgusting fetish on the internet and want to try it out--and Bill was always game. They could do anything they wanted.

Bondage? Bill could make ropes and chains appear out of thin air in the mindscape. Dismemberment? As soon as Dipper woke up, anything he lost in the mindscape was right where it used to be.

And the relationship was so casual, Dipper could say anything anytime and Bill would never judge or bat an eye.

Which is why, midfuck, he said to Bill: “Can you turn into a monster?”

“What’s that, Pine Tree?”

Dipper moaned as he clenched down on Bill’s dick. “Nnah,” he bit his lip and shuddered. “I wanna big, scary, monster boyfriend to bend me over and… ffffuck me,”

Bill giggled. “You want me to turn into a ‘big, scary monster?’”

“Mhmm,” Dipper moaned, drooling and flushed.

Jokingly exasperated, Bill complied, skin shifting from a dark mocha brown to a fire hot red and eyes morphing together into one. His mouth stretched wide and teeth sharpened into fangs, a long black tongue unfolding down past his chin. Four extra arms outstretched from his sides, two grabbing Dipper’s wrists and pinning them, another pressing so hard into his pale hip that it left bruises.

“This whatchu want, baby?”

“Hhhhah,” he managed, eyes blown practically into hearts.

Bill chuckled at the sight. His boy was a freak.

“I want you to…” Dipper trailed off, his mouth hanging open in ecstasy. “I want you to… I want you to tear me open,”

“Hmm?”

 _“Tear me open,”_ the teen shrilled. “Make your dick ribbed--sharp--rip me open,”

They’d done worse. Much more violent stuff. Bill figured, for Dipper, this was nothing. He shapeshifted only enough to his cock to match his babyboy’s description.

Dipper’s opened started to bleed, and his whole face tinted pink. _“Yes!”_

Bill reached down with his last free hand and wrapped it around his Pine Tree’s straining erection. “You close?”

“Fuck, yes,”

He jerked the boy’s cock hard, until it spurted hot all over his fingers and his own belly.

“Ngah--! Bill, fuck…”

The demon laughed lovingly. He loved his little freak.


	10. Blood Bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's technically still the 10th

It started as an accident.

Rick taught him how to act in a tense situation. How to retaliate if Morty were ever in a fight. After dozens of experiences with aliens and intergalactic rapists and serial killers, some things just happened on instinct.

“Look at this kid tryna act like he own the place.” Laughs crowded around him.

Morty shriveled back, sweat starting to bead on his forehead.

“Aww, the little bitch is scared, just like a little baby,”

It’s not like he didn’t get shit like this on the daily. He was a scrawny, stuttering and socially awkward geek. Anxiety got the better of him and the words felt more threatening than they were, the the incessant laughter much louder than it actually was.

The tall kid started to corner Morty, making him step back until he hit a locker. There was no way out now.

“Whattaya gonna do now, faggot? You can’t run home to your big sister anymore,”

The kid felt so much closer to Morty than he actually was. So much taller and more intimidating.

“Do something, jerk-off!” he snickered, shoving him in the chest.

That was what did it.

Instinctively he reached for his pocket. The taller kid was too slow to react, and before he knew it the blade of a pocket knife slashed across his throat.

His eyes went blank and his body stilled. Blood gushed from the gaping slit before he started to fall backward, hitting the floor. Only now the gathering kids could see what happened.

Everyone looked to the now dead body on the floor, before looking up at Morty, who held a bloody knife in his trembling hand.

“Holy shit,” onlookers muttered.

“He fucking killed him,”

Dark red blood pooled on the floor around the nameless kid’s neck. Normally Morty would’ve gotten sick at the sight, his months of experience still not desensitizing him to gore. But the adrenaline and the pounding thought of what he’d just done outweighed the scene before him.

He didn’t _mean_ to kill him. He was just defending himself.

Morty swallowed hard, backing away from the corpse in the middle of the hallway. Without thinking he bolted and ran as far away from the silent commotion as possible.

In his blind panic he bumped into someone else in the hall. Out of impact and fear he screamed, on-edge from what’d just happened.

“Is that a weapon, young man?”

As he looked up he saw that who he’d run into was a teacher. In another act of impulse he struck and dug the knife somewhere between the teacher’s gut and chest.

Upon realization he started to hyperventilate. _Oh god, it’s serious this time._ Morty felt like he was going to throw up.

 _I just killed two people._ “Oh, jeez…”

He pulled his knife out of the body that was no longer breathing, and on the floor in front of him. Other kids were looking now.

Instead of trying to fix the situation, which was much too big for him to handle, he decided he couldn’t really make it any worse.

“Alright, all of you,” he shrilled, getting the attention of everyone who’d stopped to watch. “I gotta fucking knife in my hands and if any of you take another step closer, I-I… I’m gonna kill you too,”

Kids started to scream and run. There was no way out of this now.

Morty balled his fists and ran for the closest person to him, aiming his knife and ready to kill.


	11. Skewered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You never find out what Morty did to deserve it. You gotta make it up yourself.

“Oh, you’re not getting off the hook that easy _this_ time.”

Morty tried to struggle but it was no use. His arms and legs were bound. He started to cry. There really was no way out.

“This time is gonna be your _last_ time.”

This was it. This was how he was going to die. Morty started to hyperventilate.

“And don’t think your cute little boy act is gonna work on me,” he spat, getting all up in the teen’s face. “I can’t feel anything. Not a single fucking ounce of remorse.”

He let his head fall, tears still dribbling down the sides of his face anyway.

Rick grimaced at the expression. He drew his arm back and smacked him so hard that his head jerked back and a bright red mark formed on his cheek.

Morty started to sob now, panicky and rocking back and forth on his knees.

“This is it, Smith. You’re dead fuckin’ meat now.”

“What’re you g-g-gonna do t’me?” he blubbered, near senseless.

“I ain’t tellin’ you yet, but you _really_ crossed the line this time. It’s gonna fuckin’ hurt, and I’m gonna watch and laugh.”

There was nothing but fear in the boy’s eyes.

Rick spread the boy’s legs after undoing the restraints, only to replace them with weights. He shoved the boy forward, making him land face-first on the cold concrete. Morty’s lip swelled upon impact. Rick stepped on the naked boy’s back, pressing and holding him there.

“Last words? Sentiments?” He laughed at Morty, whimpering on the ground. “‘Cause you won’t be able to talk after this. Hell, _during_ this, even,”

Morty hiccupped. “I’m sorry,” he bawled.

“It’s too late for that,” Rick spoke coldly. Then he chuckled.

This was gonna hurt.

He aligned the stake with Morty’s tight little hole.

“No-- _no--_ What are you doing?!”

Rick kicked the flat end of the large spike deep into Morty’s rectum. The boy howled in pain.

He screamed and screamed and screamed. _"Stop!! Please stop!!”_

“No one can hear you here, Morty!”

The man sighed, content with his work. He took the boy by the torso and the end of the spit, lifting it so that it sat upright. He dug the stake into the unfinished part of the ground, letting it stand there as Morty started to slowly sink down the pole.

He sobbed silently, the sharp end of the spike digging into the boy’s guts. Slowly, ever so slowly, Morty was being impaled to death.

After an hour or so, the spike was high up in Morty’s chest. Rick had been watching obsessively, getting off on Morty’s pain--literally.

Morty could see an erection poking through Rick’s pants, which throbbed each time Morty moaned in pain. Suddenly, it was hard for Morty to breathe. The spit was pushing into the boy’s throat. He began to panic immensely, being struck with the fear that these were going to be his last moments. He was actually gonna die.

He wailed out as much as he could before he was rendered nearly mute. His mouth was forced open as the spit made its way all the way up his throat.

Rick let out an audible moan. He frantically undid the front of his pants, his now freed erection straining. In a rush he squeezed his cock, before quickly jerking it. He moaned deep and loud, the sight of Morty’s impaled, dying body making his cock throb.

Morty’s eyes started to roll into his head, the point of the spit pushing all the way through. The fresh corpse lifelessly sank to the bottom of the stake, and Rick whined in the back of his throat, just strokes away from cumming. His erection ached with need and finally released, messy strokes matching with the powerful, uneven spurts of cum.

The man stood there, exhausted and drained, covered in spunk and feet away from a corpse.


	12. Fire/Explosion Damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's late and i'm tired so i decided to do something short and funny instead

He had three candles lit, two red and one black between them.

Dipper set the Fools tarot card face up, next to the candle on the very left. He placed the paper he’d written the spell on in front of him--he’d copied it down from some website.

After breathing deeply, he began to read it aloud.

“Fire, I summon thee; warmth, destruction, revenge. I summon ye the most,”

He pointed to the candle with the tarot card in front of it.

“By the day’s work and day’s night, from sun up to sundown, I summon your power to aid my wishes.” He envisioned Robbie, who he still had a petty hatred for, with Wendy--who he still had a crush on. “Valentino, Valentino, Valentino,”

The boy cracked all his knuckles, reminding himself why he was doing this. It was childish and stupid, but he thought it would be a good release for his anger. And even if it didn’t work, which it probably wouldn’t, it wouldn’t really matter; it was more an emotional release than anything he took seriously.

“I see you with great most distrust and see you spilled your hatred upon others,” he visualized Robbie’s face as he repeated his name, “you need to change your ways. I summon a revenge card in your favor, Robbie Valentino, until you have changed your ways.”

Dipper flipped the tarot card over, face-side down.

“The fool knows it needs change. Until you change your ways what you dish out will be returned to you times three by three. So shall it be, so shall it be.”

He waited three seconds, then let himself sink down, tired and bored. Even if it did anything he wouldn’t know immediately, so he blew the candles out and started putting everything away.

Just as he reached for the tarot card, he felt something white-hot and intense overcome his whole body. It took a quick moment of realization before he screamed, realizing he was completely engulfed in fire.


	13. Decay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been falling behind on this challenge but now that it's the weekend I'll be back on top of it soon. I've had multiple tests and an essay which all landed on the same day, so I've had no time to write. I've been eager to write this specific chapter, though; I've been looking forward to it.
> 
> MAJOR CONTENT WARNING: There's already tags on this fic but this chapter is super graphic. Warnings for incest, pedophilia, and necrophilia - yeah, shit gets real in this one. I think I may have enjoyed writing it too much.

Not every Rick Sanchez is as aware as C-137 Rick. They go about their lives not even considering the fact that alternate realities exist, let alone alternate versions of themselves.

Those who aren’t self-aware can still be smart, though.

One particular Rick Sanchez had a fixation for dead bodies. He never shared this with anyone, for fear of being ostracized. That didn’t stop him from fantasizing about it, though.

There were many other problems he had, as well. Though he wouldn’t consider it a problem, he knew he was attracted to men just as much as he was to women. Other types of infatuation he had weren’t so normal.

His first abnormal attraction was to his baby brother as a teenager. Not only was this his brother, but he was only four years old. Rick did nothing about it, except maybe think about it a few times while touching himself.

Much later in life, as a father to his daughter, he noticed a similar attraction to Beth. This started when she was about ten, and only grew more intense when she got older. Never once did he touch her. Never once.

Even at the age of 60, after not being a part of her life for years, he still felt the same fiery attraction to the now middle-aged woman. Still, however, he never acted on it. She was married, and very happy with her marriage, and Rick–being supportive of his little girl–didn’t want to interfere.

In fact, Beth was so content with her marriage, that she and Jerry planned a week-long vacation across the country. As though it couldn’t be more perfectly timed, their eldest daughter, Summer, had planned to stay at a friend’s house most of the week her parents were gone.

Rick had the hots for his granddaughter too, but kept his hands off her. Not for her sake or anything, but because he found no time or place to–and for one other reason.

The attraction he felt to Summer was completely outweighed by the obsession he had for her younger brother. More than Summer, more than Beth, and even more than his own brother, Rick felt insanely, intensely in love with 14-year-old Morty Smith.

He would spy on him going to the bathroom or getting dressed. Once or twice he even caught him masturbating. Oftentimes Rick would peek on him in the shower, but he couldn’t let anyone know about his pedophilic, incestuous urges and fantasies.

That wasn’t the half of it. That was the tame part.

Rick fantasized about, more than anything else, naked corpses. He would touch himself thinking about fucking dead bodies. Cold, unmoving carcasses.

He didn’t always fantasize about specific people. The thought of just a dead body usually sufficed. When it wasn’t a dead body, he fantasized about Morty. About his tiny, frail grandson struggling, begging _no_ , begging _please_.

About his small, adolescent erection straining; about how tight his little virgin asshole would be.

It didn’t take long before he realized that this obsession was the biggest he’d ever had. Unlike the others, Rick knew he couldn’t keep his hands off this one. He was the perfect age and size - not too young, but not too far gone. Morty was just the perfect amount of boyish and feminine. And Rick wanted to have his way with him, one way or another.

He didn’t intend to formulate a plan, but he found himself doing just that. After all, everyone was gonna be out of the house except for the two of them all week. This was the perfect time for Rick to act.

“Hey, Morty?” he called from the garage. “Could you help me out in here?”

The boy came running in, full of youthful energy. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Rick had to make this as quick and painless as possible. He didn’t want to make a mess. “My back’s out, and I can’t reach down into those boxes on the bottom shelf. I think I left the screwdriver I’m looking for in there, do you think you could find it for me?”

“Sure,” he retorted, squatting down and bending over the box.

 _This was his chance._ Rick had heavily doused a rag in chloroform. He knew exactly how he was going to do this. He came up from behind and held it firmly over Morty’s mouth and nose, holding his body with his other hand to keep him from struggling. After a few seconds, the chemical started to make him weak and drowsy, but he definitely still put up a fight; flailing in Rick’s arms and screaming underneath the cloth.

Rick could feel himself popping wood just from trying to knock him out. His plan wasn’t just to keep him unconscious, though.

It took a good few minutes before Morty was so weak that he surrendered and went limp. Rick pinched the boy’s nose and covered his mouth, blocking his airways for about three or four minutes until Morty was no longer breathing.

He checked his wrist and neck to find no pulse. Morty Smith was dead.

Rick exhaled in relief. The body in front of him started to lose color, all of his muscles relaxing and his jeans soaking in death piss.

His heart rate quickened at the sight. The boy was really dead.

He swallowed hard, adrenaline taking over now. He didn’t think he’d actually make it this far, but here he was. Rick dropped his pants, his hard cock already throbbing.

The first thing he did was remove the dead boy’s shirt. Though getting slightly colder, Morty’s skin was still warm and baby-soft. He rubbed his fingers over the teen’s nipples and shivered. He never thought he’d actually get to touch him.

Next he pulled down the piss-soaked pants. He studied the small bulge he often fantasized about. Now he was going to be able to actually touch it. Hands shaking, Rick yanked down Morty’s wet-through briefs.

He didn’t want to get ahead of himself yet. He lifted and spread the boy’s legs, aligning his cock with the corpse’s opening. Morty was beautiful like this, completely stripped except for his socks. And more importantly, dead, and at the mercy of Rick.

Slowly, he pushed in, shuddering at the tightness. He thrusted in a few times, noticing--quite alarmed--that Morty somehow grew an erection. Rick calmed down slightly when he remembered reading that dead bodies could still get hard, and sometimes cum, soon after death. The thought of it, in fact, made Rick’s member twitch.

He fucked into the boy harder, overcome with lust. This felt good, too good. He saw Morty’s cock twitch a few times, which gave him the idea to cup it in one of his hands. The mere realization that he was holding his grandson’s hard cock made him moan. He fucked into the dead boy’s hole, starting to jerk him off.

Rick watched the boy’s dick, enticed. Remembering he was alone, he let himself cry out loudly, overwhelmed by the sensations he never thought he’d get to feel. Soon, Morty’s dead erection came in cute little spurts.

The sight pushed Rick to the edge, much sooner than he thought he’d cum. He let go of the now softening dick and held Morty’s hips tightly, thrusting in much harder and faster. His pace grew uneven and his lower body throbbed, signalling his oncoming climax; he shrieked, biting his lip so hard it bled, cumming inside the dead boy’s hole for longer than he’d ever cum.

He didn’t think he’d even had that much spunk in him. When he pulled out of the bloody asshole, his cum leaked out as well.

Rick noted that the corpse’s skin was starting to purple, the color in Morty’s lips fading to white. He swallowed thickly, still in the aftershocks of his orgasm. The boy in front of him was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen in his life, and it was _all his._

The old man laid on his belly on the cold garage floor, studying the beautiful corpse. He watched until he noticed Morty’s eyes sinking into his skull and his fingertips turning blue. He held the cold, tiny hands in his, lulling into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

He decided to keep Morty’s dead body in the garage. The next day, he went back into it, sitting cross-legged on the floor and looking at the beautiful body he’d began to call his lover.

Feeling him all over his skin, which was now as cold as the room around him. Most of his body had started to turn blue, and the entire room smelled strongly of rotten meat. Any other person would find the stench revolting. Rick thought it was erotic.

He pulled his pants down to mid-thigh and began to stroke himself, gently touching the boy’s decaying body. The discoloration was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen.

Roughly he rubbed over the head of his cock, thrusting into his fist and groaning. He aimed his dick at the corpse and came on it, hot and thick. The cum, he thought, made Morty’s violated carcass look even prettier.

* * *

Three days had passed, and Morty’s body only grew more and more attractive to Rick. It started to swell like a balloon, and it leaked at the mouth and frequently-used asshole.

Rick fucked the oozing throat and then the boy’s stretched out hole. This blistering corpse, this mutilated, decomposing flesh-pile--this was Rick’s fucktoy now, and he loved more than he had ever loved another human being.

He had no idea how long it’d be before Beth and her husband found out, before Summer noticed the putrid smell and discovered what was left of her brother. But Rick vowed he’d hide it for as long as he could, making love to it whenever he found the chance.


	14. Plant Growth in Body

Dipper knew the first person to go to in a situation like this was his uncle Ford.

After all, Ford had been in Gravity Falls longer than he had, and with his years of research, he would be much more educated on the phenomena than Dipper would.

“I was out exploring in the woods, right? And I found this really weird-looking plant thing, so I took a picture and wrote down some observations,”

“Interesting,” Ford commented, half-listening and half-somewhere else.

“And I touched it--I didn’t mean to--and I got pricked by it. The think was like, covered in thorns.”

“You could be poisoned if you’re not careful,” he warned, now concerned.

“I know, that’s why I came to you; my arms are itching like crazy.”

Ford rolled his chair over to where Dipper was standing, taking him by the wrist and spinning his forearm so he could get a good look at the front of it. “Any other affected areas?”

“No,” Dipper answered. “Just my arms. They itch so bad it hurts,” he moaned, scratching away at them to prove his point.

“For right now, put some lotion on it, but I want you to stay down here so I can study you. Also, if you could, I need to see the pictures and any notes you took so I can try to identify it.”

After a half an hour or so, Ford had gone through all the resources he had and still came up with nothing.

“Boy, you definitely found a unique specimen. It’s completely unidentified.”

“So, what do we do?”

“Continue to treat it the same way you’d treat a rash. If it worsens or anything else strange happens, come to me _immediately._ ”

“You got it, great uncle Ford,” Dipper promised.

* * *

The boy couldn’t sleep. He was up all night, half-conscious, scratching at his forearms. He woke up in a cold sweat at four in the morning, suddenly met with a piercing pain. He knew he had to go right to Ford.

“Great uncle Ford,” he called, his cries echoing down the stairs. “Great uncle Ford,” he repeated, shaking the man awake.

He jerked up from his sofa-bed, startled. “What’s the matter, Mason?” he asked, putting his glasses on.

“It got worse,” he cried.

Ford turned the lights on and pulled out a magnifying glass. Sure enough, the boy’s arms were not only bright red, but they had begun to form dozens of large bumps.

“Mason, I want you to stay down here with me tonight, just in case anything else happens.”

Dipper nodded, horrified. He had no idea what else could possibly happen.

He did, eventually, fall partially back asleep. His uncle dozed off before he did, sleeping on the floor and generously letting the teen sleep on his bed.

Hours later, he felt a burning sensation take over. He shot up, more awake and aware than he’d ever felt, suddenly met with an even more intense pain than before.

“Grunkle Ford, what’s going on?!”

He screamed in anguish, feeling like he was being skinned alive. It took a few seconds for Ford to become responsive, immediately taking action. “Mason, are you okay?!”

The boy responded by shrieking, unable to form words. _“It hurts,”_ he cried.

Tears rolled down the sides of his face and he screamed in unimaginable terror. Suddenly, something started to rip through the skin of his arms.

Ford gasped, completely taken aback.

One by one, tens of dozens of thorns started to erupt from Dipper’s flesh.


	15. Emaciation

Mabel hadn’t eaten anything in four days.

She felt weak and exhausted. Every time she stood up she saw stars and felt lightheaded. But she was doing this for a reason, and she wouldn’t stop until she saw the results she wanted.

She would do anything to be beautiful.

This had been a problem for her ever since she was fourteen, and now she was doing something about it.

When it first started, she would skip meals every now and again. Look at pictures of thin models and remind herself that one day, she would look like that, too.

Three years passed and it had only gotten more intensive from there. She would only allow herself one small meal a day, and the last two weeks, she’d been trying to puke up anything she’d let herself eat.

But for four days now, she hadn’t even had to do that.

Mabel had never felt so terrible. But she looked in the mirror and could see her ribs, and she smiled weakly. It was working.

At one or so in the morning, she no longer felt like a human being. She was so out of it, that nothing felt real. For all she knew, she was dreaming. She was sleepwalking.

Too out of her head to know any better, she found herself in the kitchen, pulling food after food out of the refrigerator and cupboards. Her mouth watered at the sight of all the foods she hadn’t been able to eat in months. Finally, she spoiled herself, because she would wake up in the morning, stomach growling, knowing it was all a dream.

But already, after the third plate, she felt her stomach churning.

She immediately realized that this was not a dream at all. She had _really_ just broken her fast, and her gut felt overstuffed with dirty, _disgusting_ food.

Mabel ran to the bathroom and hunched over the toilet.

_No, no, no._ All that work she had put forward to make herself beautiful.

She strained as she emptied her system of anything and everything she had put down.

She would do anything to be beautiful.


	16. Painful Transformation

Rick and Morty found themselves walking out of the spaceship and back into the garage.

“So,” Morty said, “what is all that for?” He gestured to the brightly colored vials Rick was carrying with him.

“Meh,” Rick shrugged. “Just a couple different DNA samples.”

They parked the ship in the lab under the garage and made their way up to where Rick kept all his stuff. Rick set the box down on the table in the garage.

“They’re all from separate alien fossils,” he continued. “So I’m not quite sure what the creature each belonged to used to look like.”

Morty was curious now. “Is there any way to find out?”

Rick swiveled in his chair, filling a syringe with a neon yellow liquid from one of the vials. “I’m glad you asked!” He rolled up the boy’s sleeve and stuck the needle right into him.

“Ow!” Morty yelped. “Wh-- what the hell, Rick?!”

As soon as he finished pushing all the liquid out of the syringe, he pulled it out of Morty’s arm and set the empty instrument onto his desk. “Just checkin’ to see if it has any effect on you. If it does, I’m sure it’s reversible,”

Just then, a gurgling noise came from the core of Morty’s body. “Oh-- ooh,” Morty winced, slightly doubling over in pain. “I don’t feel so good,”

Morty abruptly jerked back, his face morphing in shape and his arms becoming disfigured.

“Wh-- wh-- what’s going on--?”

Sharp scales ripped out from underneath his pulsing limbs and coated his now purplish, reptilian skin. His eyes swelled and turned a neon yellow, much like the sample pumped into him, rising to a new position on his face.

“Ohh shit,” Rick muttered.


	17. Backstabbed

Rick had a crystal that allowed him to clone anyone whose DNA he came in contact with. That information is unimportant, but with the power it held, it was asking to be stolen. He and his grandson track down the thief, who resides in a whole other galaxy, retrieve the crystal, and are now running away from said alien, who discovered that they’d stolen it back.

Just your average day for Rick and Morty.

The situation was calling for a pileup, being that the thief had backup. After a few minutes of running breathlessly more similar-looking aliens joined the first one’s side. Rick groaned in frustration, but this was nothing him and Morty couldn’t handle - they’d made it out of everything else so far.

Suddenly the boys realized that the aliens chasing them had weapons. Rick didn’t bat an eye; he didn’t even think about it. Morty, being Morty, started to panic instantly.

“Wh-- what’re we gonna do, Rick?” he cried.

Rick grabbed Morty’s arm and pulled him along as he started to run faster. “Don’t worry about it,” he assured.

Morty suddenly no longer felt Rick’s arm pulling, and he stopped shortly. It took him a second to register what’d just happened, but when he pulled back, he saw it.

One of the three other aliens had thrust a dagger directly through Rick’s chest.

The boy’s eyes were locked on how it went clean through his spine, opening up at the front of his body. All of a sudden the shock set in and Morty screamed bloody murder. He felt like he was going to throw up.

“Ohmygod--Rick! _Rick!_ ”

He dropped to his knees when his grandfather’s body hit the ground. He was weak, bleeding out, and guaranteed to be dead in minutes--but Morty didn’t care. He still tried to shake Rick awake.

“C’mon, grandpa,” he choked, tears pricking in his eyes and a lump rising in his throat. “Don’t die, please, don’t die,”

Rick groaned, barely audibly. His eyes were already in the back of his head. He was too far gone.

Snot oozed from the young teen’s nose. “Please, grandpa Rick,” he begged, starting to lose himself. He was crying and he couldn’t stop.

The old man reached a hand up to the boy’s face and stroked it weakly. He hacked, coughing up blood, and tried to manage a dying breath. “Be good, Morty,” he finally spoke. His hand fell back.

“No,” Morty sobbed. “No no no no _no no no,_ ”

Rick went completely limp, and subsequently stopped breathing. Morty screamed a gut-wrenching sob that everyone else around them had to hear. He collapsed on top of his dead grandpa and held his body close, rocking manically, and crying into his bleeding chest.


	18. Acid Burn

Dipper’s admiration crush on his uncle Ford made him all the more susceptible to carelessness.

Oftentimes when Ford was out of the house, Dipper hung around his lab. When Ford was home, no one was allowed in his lab unless he called for them - it was dangerous, he said; it wasn’t a safe place for children.

Being fifteen, Dipper failed to consider himself a child--which is why he consistently invited himself downstairs when his uncle wasn’t there.

It was interesting to him, all the scientific gear, samples, and notes. He fucked around with tech and beakers and read through research Ford had done apart from the journals - findings Dipper didn’t even know about. He found himself enlightened by all the information, and even more enamored by the fact that he wasn’t supposed to know about it.

One of the many times he snuck into Ford’s lab, he came across a collection of vials and other various samples. He wasn’t too educated on how to properly treat these substances, or any substances, for that matter--which made him a lot more foolish in how he went about it. He’d pick up the containers they were in, sniff them, sometimes dip a finger in and lick it.

If Ford knew how irresponsible he was, he’d yell at him.

But Ford wasn’t there, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Being so concentrated on what he was doing, he was caught off-guard when his phone vibrated in his pocket. So off-guard, in fact, that he jolted.

And backed into the table, which caused the collection of vials to topple over.

Multiple of them spilled onto Dipper’s arm, which was outstretched to break the fall. After a split second the liquids started to sizzle and burn, making Dipper scream out loud.

The white-hot burning was intense. Dipper tried to wipe it off, which only made the inside of his hand burn as well. The burn went bright red and bubbled, which also made the boy shriek.

He flailed his arm in the air, hoping that would do something, but the pain barely faltered. He screamed for no one to hear him. His uncle couldn’t help him this time.

Despite this, he still screamed, “Great-uncle Ford, help, _please,_ ”

He started crying, damning himself for doing so. Holding his arm, he ran upstairs to grab towels and clean up the mess he inadvertently made. After sopping up whatever was left on the floor, he ran to a sink and stuck his arm under cold water.

This action was obviously done pretty late, but Dipper was still in shock. If Ford were there, it would’ve been the first thing he’d done, after yelling at him.

 _God,_ he thought, _Great-uncle Ford’s gonna kill me._


	19. Robotic Parts/Prosthetics

Morty was in the garage with Rick, cutting up some dead alien lifeform with a laser sword Rick had trusted him with.

“Be careful with this thing,” Rick warned him. “It could cut your hand clean off.”

The boy assured he knew what he was doing, being slow and steady about the whole thing.

After a good ten minutes of working with it, he decided he knew the process well enough to speed it up a little bit. He started chopping faster, eventually getting so into the rhythm that he stopped thinking about what he was doing.

At one point he closed his eyes, daydreaming instead of watching what he was doing.

His eyes shot open, however, when he felt a sharp wave of blinding pain, and then nothing but a dull burn at his wrist.

“Holy shit, Morty,” Rick stammered.

It took Morty a second to comprehend what he’d just done. Before him sat his burnt stump of a wrist, and what used to be his hand. There was no blood anywhere.

“Wh-- wh-- what the fuck, Rick?!”

Rick was mindlessly searching through a box of what appeared to be emergency supplies. “I can’t believe you a-actually did it,” he gaped, mind boggled. “I was only kidding,”

Morty was at a loss. “R-Rick, what the hell just happened?!”

“Can’t you see, you little bastard? You cut your hand off, just like I said,” Rick sputtered, panicking and thinking fast.

“Oh, jeez,” Morty wavered.

Rick slammed the box he was rummaging through onto the table. “Don’t worry, I got just the thing,” he assured. He pulled out what looked like a metal mold of a hand.

“What’s that?” Morty asked.

The older man fucked with the wiring coming out of the “wrist” of the gadget for a second, before taking Morty’s own wrist into his hand. “It’s a prosthetic hand,”

Morty swallowed hard and trusted in his grandpa.

“Just hold still, okay? I just need a second t-to rewire the damn thing,”

The boy closed his eyes and sighed in relief. Somewhere in the back of his mind, even when he’d just barely processed what’d happened, he knew Rick would find a way to fix it.

Right as he opened his eyes, Rick was almost done attaching it. He pulled out a small hand drill to do the final touches, screwing it on, then wiped the sweat from his brow.

“There, good as new.”

Morty flexed his new hand, opening and closing the fingers. “I don’t feel anything when I touch it,” he commented.

“It’s better than not having a hand, isn’t it?”

“W-well… yeah,”

“Good, then you’ll deal.” He turned around, feeling brushed off.

He spun his wrist again, getting a good look at the replacement. “Thank you, grandpa Rick,”

The man’s face softened. “No problem, Morty.”


	20. Parasite

_It was just a small thing that Morty should’ve shrugged off. Rick would’ve, after all._

_But every night since, it had been in his dreams._

_He and Rick would be hidden in a dark alley, trying to avoid space police. Keeping their heavy breathing down, trying to lay low until it was safe to come out--and then something cold, wet, and tight struck his face with full force, clinging to it. Rick had managed to pull it off, but not without bruising, and what Morty could swear felt like something sharp pushing into his mouth._

_The dream would continue, with Morty feeling a desperate tickle in the back of his throat. He’d awake with a start, still feeling the same tickle in his throat._

* * *

“Rick, I need help,” Morty begged, fidgeting as he shuffled into the garage.

“What is it this time,” Rick groaned, obviously busy with something.

“E-- ever since that, _thing_ jumped on my face, I’ve been feeling… off,”

Rick snorted, rolling his chair around to see Morty - and clearly not interested, hunched over and in bathroom position. “Could you be a tad less vague,” he gestured, irritated.

“Aw jeez,” he murmured, rubbing his shoulder. “I think, I think it put something in my mouth,”

Rick actually snort-laughed aloud. “The horny fuckin’ thing musta raped your sweet little teen mouth,”

The boy repelled in disgust, making Rick laugh harder. “I-- I’m serious, Rick!” he snapped.

He put his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle his sick amusement. “Okay, okay, sorry, Jesus, Morty.” Promptly he went back to whatever he was working on.

“Well?” Morty gestured vaguely in bewilderment.

“Well what,” Rick said, back to his monotonous apathy.

“What am I gonna do, Rick? Ever since that thing jumped on me, there’s been this itch in my throat, and it won’t stop,” he cried, his inflection raising near the end of the statement.

“Chill the fuck out,” Rick groaned. “It was probably nothing, and those two things probably have no correlation. Most likely placebo,”

Morty frustratedly threw his fists to his sides, but he didn’t argue. His grandpa was probably right. “Fine,” he surrendered.

“Alright, cool. Now go pester your sister or something,”

Just as Morty turned to leave, the incessant itching turned into brutal pain. _“Rick,”_ he screamed.

“What now,” he snapped, rolling his chair to face his grandson.

He raised his hands up to his throat to protect himself from what he didn’t know was about to happen. The pain heightened until it almost felt like there was a razor blade stuck inside his throat. He tried to scream, but only succeeded in coughing blood, before both his throat and mouth were ripped open by some tentacled creature.

Rick pulled his laser gun out on impulse and aimed, but didn’t shoot. He was dead silent in shock, suddenly aware of what’d just happened. _A parasite._

He prayed silently to a deity he normally didn’t give the time of day, hoping the thing that jumped Morty didn’t touch him. His gut dropped to the floor when he felt something crawling up his throat.


	21. Manslaughter

The lightswitch flickered on and off. _This again._

Morty became accustomed to Rick drunkenly barging into his room in the middle of the night. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence, but definitely was more often than it should’ve been.

“What’s up, Rick?” Morty tiredly offered.

Rick made himself welcome on Morty’s bed, sitting right up next to him. “Jusss… thinkin’ bout things, thinkin’ bout how people… people aren’t real,”

“Uh-huh,” he agreed, absentmindedly. Rick did this a lot.

“And how you’re not real,” he slurred. “Are you real?”

“Uh-huh,” Morty repeated.

The man propped up on the boy’s bed, getting on all fours and pulling him in by the shirt. “Don’t lie to me, you fuck!”

He didn’t react, stunned by shock. It’d been awhile since Rick got physical with Morty. “I-- I’m not lying,” he sputtered.

“You can’t lie if you’re not real!” Rick was spitting in his face, frantically shaking his body back and forth.

“Kn-kn-kn-- Knock it off, Rick,” he finally stuttered out.

“Don’t you _knock it off, Rick_ me you nonexistent son of a bitch!” He suddenly started flinging him, hitting him into the bedside wall.

Recklessly, Morty grabbed the pocketknife he kept on the table next to his bed. Responding only out of fear, only out of terror, and not with the emotion he felt for his grandpa - he stabbed the small weapon into his chest.

Rick drew back in surprise, sobering up. “M-- Morty,” he wavered, dizzying and falling back.

“Oh… oh _no,_ ” Morty gulped, in sudden realization of what he had just done.

The old man’s limp form rolled off Morty’s bed, his chest bleeding out onto the carpeted floor.


	22. Animal/Beast Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm so hype for a few of the chapters of this one

“Did you hear that?”

Dipper shone the flashlight back and forth across the cold dirt ground. “I don’t see anything,”

“I heard something behind us,” Mabel insisted.

The twins were out in the woods, late October night. Not looking for anything in particular, just having some fun in the spirit of the season. They’d grown much too old to go trick-or-treating, but since they were staying in Gravity Falls, they figured creepy forest hunting would suffice.

Hunting for ghosts, they called it. It wasn’t like they didn’t believe ghosts existed - quite the contrary, since they had firsthand experience. But they highly doubted one would just be chilling in the woods late at night; ghosts usually had reason to be where they were.

Dipper normally wasn’t one to freak out at the presence of someone else, but at three in the morning, it’d be a little more than frightening if there was in fact somebody following the teens.

He flipped around and shone the beam of light up and down, still not coming up with anything.

“I think we’re safe,” he exhaled in relief.

“Okay, but if I hear it again, we’re going back to the Shack,” she pushed.

What sounded like running footsteps against the ground increased in volume just behind them.

“Dipper, I told you!” Mabel whisper-yelled.

“Alright, fine, let’s just get back fast, okay?”

Suddenly the noise was accompanied by howling.

Dipper tsked. “It’s just a dog, Mabel,” he groaned.

“What if it’s not?”

The boy put his hand to his face in annoyance. “What else would it be, then?” he suggested.

“I dunno… just…” she trailed off.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. Someone’s dog is just wandering around in the woods, so what?”

Mabel sighed. “Fine.”

“Good. Now let’s get back to finding ghosts,” he laughed. His sister laughed too, getting back into the spirit of things.

The howling got louder. It still irked the girl but she shrugged it off. Dipper was probably right.

But soon enough the beast’s growling was only feet away from them.

“I don’t think it’s a nice dog,” Mabel whispered to her brother.

Dipper rolled his eyes, before the canine scampered up just behind him and took his arm in his teeth. He yelled in shock and tried to jerk his arm away.

Only then could the teens see that this wasn’t just some stray dog--this was a monster.

The boy finally broke away from the beast’s grasp, falling onto the ground in the effort. The creature pounced on him, snarling in his face.

 _“Dipper!”_ the girl cried.

He screamed as the canine sunk it’s maw into the flesh of his face. Mabel shrieked louder, the sound echoing in the desolate woods. The wolf didn’t stop. It continued to tear Dipper apart.


	23. Nosebleed/Bruises/Minor Injury

There was yelling and there was spitting. It was a fight over something petty and insignificant. Something teenage brothers would fight about.

Stanley was the much more physical of the two, and where he lacked in his brother’s brains, he made up for in violence. When Stanford would retort something short and witty, something that cut deep and made Stan flare up in anger and emotion, he’d get all up in the scrawnier boy’s face and shove him.

Just because Ford was small didn’t mean he couldn’t fend for himself, though. If his brother started throwing punches, he would too.

The thing that Ford would never admit was that it turned him on. He purposely got into these fights because he got off on it. Not so much yelling, but being yelled at. _Especially_ by his brother.

 _“You fucking asshole,”_ he snarled.

The words were spitfire but they made Ford swallow hard. He didn’t know why Stan’s rough, pissed off voice has such an effect on him, but it _did_.

“Is that all you have to say, Stanley? You can’t come up with anything more coherent?”

He knew he was digging his own grave when he said these things, but the adrenaline made his stomach simmer. He did it because he _knew_ he would get the result he wanted; Stan would draw back in surprise, then inch back in and bite his head off.

“You and your smart fuckin’ mouth,” he sneered. “You can talk all ya want but you can’t do _shit,_ ”

It took all of Ford’s will not to pop wood in front of his brother. Oh _god,_ he knew what he was gonna be jerking off to tonight.

“If you’re such a big man, let’s see you do something, then,”

Stan stomped up to the other teen and grabbed roughly him by the front of the shirt, before his fist collided with the other’s jaw.

Ford’s lip swelled and immediately drew blood. The coppery taste and the pain of the impact made his breathing hitch. He stood up tall under his brother’s grasp and socked him in the stomach. Stan withdrew, giving Ford the freedom to punch him in the nose.

“Why, you,” Stanley snarled, blood dripping from his nose. The sight was like sex to Ford.

Stan went right back in, punching his brother directly in the face. His glasses shattered, and his nose began to bleed as well. Blood rushed also to his loins, but he tried to ignore that. His brother then kneed him in the gut, before punching the now hunched over boy in the shoulder.

He spit on the boy, now curled up on the floor, and headed for his room.

* * *

In the bathroom, Ford took his clothes off and assessed himself in the mirror. His shoulder was bruised and so was his nose, but it wasn’t broken. His glasses were fucked, though.

He looked at himself, at his split, swollen lip. He couldn’t take waiting anymore. He undid his pants and shoved them down, taking himself in his hand and pumping himself to take the edge off. He sighed contently.

The thought of everything that’d happened was hot as fire and pushed him a lot closer than he’d intended to be. He didn’t know how much he’d like seeing Stanley bleeding. Almost as much as he liked being beat up, but not quite as much.

He imagined what Stanley would say or do if he saw what it did to Ford. He’d call him disgusting and a freak, like everyone else had called him a freak. He panted, already close to cumming.

Stan would probably spit on him, and tell him he didn’t want anything to do with him. _No, that’s not what Ford wanted._ Ford wanted his brother to kick him to the ground and pin him there, force himself on top of him and rape him. The head of his cock was leaking.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath. He opened his eyes to look at himself in the mirror. Dry blood under his nose, glasses cracked, shoulder bruised up and lip cut open. _Stanley did this to me,_ he thought to himself, before he came all over his hand.


	24. Post-Mortem Examination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh boy, here i go sinnin' again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Another major content warning for graphic necrophilia and pedophilia.]

Rick was a scientist. It was only natural to want to do an autopsy on someone close to him had they just died.

Rick was a doctor. Well, technically he was a doctor–he had a doctorate degree.

_“A doctorate in what?”_

He himself didn’t even know half the time. The important thing was, he was a scientist, he’d dabbled in the field of medicine, and he had a doctorate degree. That’s all Rick needed to qualify himself as a doctor.

He had dissected dead animals before, and he’d watched plenty of snuff movies; he figured that gave him enough background knowledge to perform an autopsy.

With Beth being an animal surgeon and with him having a half-assed PhD, he was able to pull some strings. That’s how he found himself in the hospital his daughter worked at, after closing hours, with his dead grandson’s body sprawled out on a dissection table.

No one else knew Morty was dead. That was the tricky part.

Rick washed his hands and mentally prepared himself for what he shrugged off as a standard examination. There was no reason to do it - Rick already knew how the boy died. He was poisoned. Short and sweet.

But, he’d convinced himself, this would be good practice should he ever delve deeper into the medical field. He had many an open road, after all.

What happened after this didn’t matter. How he’d explain to Beth and Jerry their son’s death, he didn’t know. What he’d do afterward, he didn’t know either. _But that didn’t matter right now._

He pulled on two cold blue rubber gloves and pulled out the tools necessary for for examination.

Rick hadn’t changed clothes. He was wearing his usual lab coat and slacks, but with gloves and a scrub cap. He didn’t think this would take too long.

He began the procedure with the external examination.

He took a deep breath, cracked his neck, and started to strip the corpse naked.

That’s when Rick’s true intentions, which he buried deep in the back of his mind, began to resurface.

He’d seen Morty naked before, of course. But this was a new spark. A new feeling. Morty was dead and the two were alone - and dead boys can’t say no.

Rick internally socked himself for even thinking such a thought.

_But no one would ever know._

He bit his lip, tapping his foot rapidly and anxiously. He looked all around him and found no cameras that were turned on. _No one would ever know._ He swallowed hard.

This was all he would do, he convinced himself. He reached a gloved hand between the boy’s thighs, gently feeling over his soft cock and balls. He shivered at the feeling, withdrawing only to remove the glove and do it again.

The boy’s skin was cold - that was a given. He was dead. But it was also soft and smooth, exactly that of a young teen. Rick gently groped the small set of genitals, giggling as he did so. This was so naughty. And Morty was so cute and little.

“That was the farthest he’d go” - that’s a laugh. Once he’d started, he couldn’t stop. He was giddy and high on adrenaline. He had his dead grandson’s body in front of him, naked and unresisting.

It didn’t help that Rick had been pining over the fourteen-year-old up until he died.

He couldn’t stop. He’d never had this opportunity before and he’d never have it again.

Rick cupped the dead boy’s cute little cock in his fingers and pumped it, as though he were jerking him off. It didn’t matter if Morty wasn’t there to feel it. It was cuter soft, anyway. Rick’s cock, on the other hand, was rock hard and massive. It throbbed under his slacks at the sight of the boy’s tiny little dick. _God,_ it was like a baby’s dick.

He reached down and squeezed his pulsing erection. He had to pull himself away, at least for now.

Now that Morty was naked, it was time to move on to the second portion of the autopsy: the internal examination.

Rick pulled out a scalpel. First he made two short, diagonal incisions stemming below the boy’s shoulders, and one long vertical incision where they met, all the way down the navel.

His cock still throbbed in his pants.

He examined the boy’s organs, feeling around his insides with the hand that was still gloved. Rick squeezed one of the organs, wet and still slightly warm, and imagined himself fucking it. His dick, straining in his pants, was now so hard it hurt.

He pulled his grandson’s sliced open body down the table so that his butt was just above the edge, and spread his legs wide - one hand directly touching the cold skin of his thigh and the gloved one smearing blood all over the other. It felt so good to _defile_ Morty’s body.

In a rush he unzipped his slacks and popped the button, yanking them and his boxers down in one swift motion. His erection bobbed, tinted red from the strain and the blood flow. With his bloody hand he gave himself a few strokes, both to slightly take the edge off and to serve as lube.

He aligned the aching head of his cock into Morty’s hairless, tight little asshole. He moaned before even pushing in just at how good the contact felt. Rick replaced his hands on the boy’s thighs and pushed in, already whining loudly after just the tip was in.

Rick grabbed Morty’s hips and pulled his body all the rest of the way down onto his long, thick erection. The old man practically cried out. Then he started fucking mercilessly into the lifeless body.

Only a few thrusts in and he could already feel his climax building. His whole body felt warm and overwhelmed.

“Oh, Morty,” he whimpered.

His cock throbbed inside the carcass’s asshole, before he came mid-thrust. Rick almost screamed at the intensity, cumming for almost a full minute. He nearly blacked out, but got a hold of himself, and pulled out of the corpse of his dead grandson.


	25. Skeletal/Bones Showing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know how the grinch stole christmas
> 
> well this is how mabel fucked up thanksgiving

Mabel’s in the kitchen helping Dipper and their parents make dinner. She’s in charge of cutting the vegetables for stuffing the turkey, which gives her the ability to use a knife. She’s having fun with it, dancing around as she chops, humming to whatever’s playing on the radio.

As she’s got a busy mind, she’s focusing on multiple tasks at once. She’s joking around with Dipper while not keeping her eyes on the task at hand. She knows what she’s doing, or rather, she doesn’t even stop to think about it.

She holds the sharp kitchen knife while flicking her wrist in response to whatever witty remark Dipper made, stifling a giggle. She takes a second to refocus on the cutting board, and goes back to what she’s doing, her eyes drifting as her head fades to the clouds.

It’s only a few seconds later that she feels the blade of the knife sinking into her hand. Mabel, being Mabel, doesn’t go into shock right away--she instantly starts screaming.

Dipper and his mom and dad drop whatever it is they’re doing and go running right to Mabel. There’s panic and there’s commotion and Mabel is screaming and crying. They’re all trying to calm her down, Dipper doing most of such, holding her gently and repeating shushes, “it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay,”

Their mom is slightly queasy from all the blood, trying to stay still and be there for her daughter but also trying to keep her lunch. She silently strokes Mabel’s hair, following Dipper’s lead.

The dad takes control of the situation and gently takes Mabel by the wrist. “Just stay still, okay?” he speaks, taking the knife from the handle. “I’m gonna pull it out and then we’ll call an ambulance.”

He does just as he says he would, pulling it out as carefully as possible, Mabel shutting her eyes tight.

“I’m gonna grab something to wrap it with, you stay still,”

She does as told, but out of curiosity, peeks her eyes open to look at the wound. Immediately she feels faint at the sight, her stomach turning and face going pale.

Somehow, the teen cut deep enough for bones to be exposed, poking out under the pooling blood and torn flesh. She gags, trying to hold it together, but ultimately fails, puking on the floor. Dipper jerks back, but not before getting the slimy vomit on his shirt. He steadies his breathing, unfazed, focused on his sister’s injury. He wipes the chunks off his own hand and goes back to holding Mabel, comforting her.

She just stands there, staring at the wreck that used to be her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk why i chose thanksgiving i just wanted to do something autumnal


	26. Crushed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got really fucking behind on this--my only excuse is that my internet's been out for a few days, but i'm back now

Bill Cipher has ways of making people talk.

“Just tell me the password and I won’t hurt anyone,”

Dipper practically spit through gritted teeth. “I’ll never tell you. I don’t care how bad you hurt me,”

The demon laughed. “Oh, I’m not gonna hurt _you,_ ”

The chained up teen only stared back blankly. “Huh?”

“You’ll have no choice but to tell me. I’ll get to you through someone you love. Someone you care about more than anyone else.”

Dipper started to wriggle in his restraints. “No– you can’t–” he insisted, struggling incessantly.

“Hmm, who should I use…? How about that redhead girl? Maybe your sister?”

He kept pleading “no, no,” but to no avail.

Bill inched in uncomfortably close. “Or,” he whispered, “your uncle Ford?”

Dipper gaped, blubbering in protest. “No! Please!”

“So you’ll tell me?”

The human bit his tongue. _“Never.”_

Bill shrugged apathetically. “Then I guess I have no choice.”

The demon snapped his fingers, willing Stanford into existence before them. The Author looked around, obviously speechless and confused. “W– where am I?” Suddenly he spotted his nephew, starting to sprint toward him.

“Oh no you don’t,” Bill spoke firmly, binding the older man in place at will.

Ford’s ankles were bound to the floor, his feet unable to move. He kept trying to pry away but he couldn’t, completely stationary and helpless. “Dipper,” he cried. “What does he want?”

Dipper bit his tongue, but relented, “The password to your laptop,”

The man shook his head. “Come on, what could he do that’d warrant us telling him?”

Bill snapped his fingers once more, making a large metal block appear above the older captive mortal. Slowly, it began to lower. “You have thirty seconds, Fordsy.”

Ford simply laughed. “He’s bluffing,” he called over to Dipper. “He wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would,” Bill smirked. The heavy block continued to lower.

“Great-uncle Ford, I should just tell him,” Dipper panicked.

“Don’t you worry, boy,” Ford assured. “He talks a good game but he never goes through with these things. Within a second of this block dropping, he’ll change his mind.”

It only pressed lower, shifting the man into an uncomfortable position sandwiched between it and the ground.

Dipper perked up to say something, increasingly worrying about his uncle.

“Don’t tell him!” Ford warned.

Suddenly Bill drew his hand back. “Oops!” he snickered.

The metal block fell with such force that the sound of the blow made Dipper’s ears ring. It almost outweighed the volume of the cry the boy made, a guttural and pained _no_ that rang in the air much too late.

Red gore gushed from the sides of the two colliding forces. Bill lifted the blood-stained plate to reveal the wreckage that laid beneath it. The body, or whatever remained of it, was no longer recognizable; Ford’s remains were a red, squishy pulp of a mess. Dipper, almost passed out, felt like he was going to throw up.


	27. Possession/Corruption

Seventeen-year-old Mason Pines was once again confronting Bill Cipher in his dreams.

“What do you want this time?”

“Nothing that’ll affect you much, I just need to borrow your body again. I won’t take too long. And I’ll even give you something in return,”

Mason pondered it for a second. “What would that be?”

Bill floated above the boy’s shoulder. “Well, that’s a surprise,”

He groaned. “Why would I say yes to that?”

“Because you’re gullible,” the demon laughed, “and your curiosity will get the better of you in the end. C’mon, don’t you wanna know what it is?”

Bill was right about one thing. Mason was gullible as all hell.

Which is how he found himself, yet again, shaking hands with the devil.

Cipher laughed manically, ripping Mason’s soul from the human vessel and eagerly taking his place in it. Bill opened his eyes in Mason’s body, lifting his head up to reveal piercing yellow pupils.

“Alright,” the boy said, now a ghost in the mindscape. “What do you need to do?”

He opened up Mason’s top dresser drawer, pulling out a box of matches. The he reached under the bed to retrieve all three of Ford’s journals.

“Wait-- no--” Mason argued, but Bill reached a match between his lips, striking it lit on the roof of his mouth. With all the journals stacked on top one another, Bill dropped the lit match and watched the books burn.

Mason was near tears. “What is it, then, you wanted to give me?” he sputtered.

Bill opened the window of the boy’s room, the very top story of the house. “A grand finale,” he laughed, before throwing himself to the ground outside.


	28. Sickness

“Oh, jeez, Rick - how fast is this thing going?”

Rick groaned in annoyance. “Pretty fuckin’ fast, Morty,”

The boy bit his lip, his head spinning. He had no idea why his grandpa was driving this fast; the spaceship was usually fast on a normal day, but even this was above and beyond. Maybe Rick was just drunk.

Then again, Rick was always drunk.

“Rick, I don’t feel so good,”

The old man had to hold himself together. He was already trying to repress some feelings for his grandson, and if he saw him puke, he didn’t know how much more he could take.

“Just take it easy, Morty,” he said, trying to be gentle. “We’ll be home soon.”

The young teen doubled over, holding his stomach. “I dunno if I can make it till then,” he panicked.

Morty felt a warm mass of saliva well up under his tongue. That was usually the only warning anyone ever got that they’d hit the point of no return. He swallowed it, shutting his eyes, breathing deep, trying to clear his mind of everything except not throwing up in front of Rick.

Rick himself was doing everything he could to not say anything, afraid he’d say too much.

Despite the effort, the contents of his stomach rose to his throat, and spilled past his lips. The sound of the vomit splattering against the floor of the ship made Rick’s toes curl inside his shoes. He held his breath, not out of fear of the putrid smell, but only to keep his composure.

He tried to keep his eyes on the road, so to speak, and only there. He didn’t want to see anything that was going on.

But against his own will he did sneak a glance, peeking to the side to get an eyeful of the situation. Morty had made a mess all over his shirt as well as the floor, still blowing chunks and getting a good mess of it down his chin.

Rick tried to only look for a second but couldn’t take his eyes off his carsick grandson. His blood pooled between his legs and he swallowed hard, and erection rising against his seatbelt.


	29. Distorted Body/Broken Bone

“Dipper,” Mabel cried, “isn’t there something in the journal about defeating zombies?”

The two were in a bad state of panic, being ambushed by a pack of the undead. “No,” he retorted, “there’s nothing in here about weaknesses,”

Zombies continued to circle in from almost every direction, giving them nowhere to run.

“This can’t be happening,” he said to himself more than anyone else. “I wanted answers so bad I put everyone in danger. Now we’re toast, it’s all my fault, and no one can save us,”

Just then one of the zombies grabbed Dipper by the wrist and yanked him up. He panicked and yelled in protest but kept being pulled upward.

“Mabel, I’m sorry,” he cried out over his sister screaming.

“Dipper!” she screamed. Her brother was now wailing, face to face with the zombie.

The monster flung the boy in his grasp against the nearest wall. He collided with it at full force, the impact making a sickening thud. Dipper could’ve sworn he heard several bones cracking.

Though he was still in shock, when he finally looked to see what’d happened to his body, he wanted to scream. His legs were bent and twisted in ways he never thought he’d see, brutally crushed and mangled before him.

His legs weren’t the only bones broken, either. His skull shattered from the force, and he could tell, his vision going red before he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> speaking of zombies, there was a zombie-themed halloween dance at my school the other night. it was totally go big or go home, and it was an absolute gorefest. it was some of the most fun i've had.


	30. Stitching

“Am I gonna be okay?”

“You’re gonna be just fine,” Ford reassured, chuckling softly.

“It’s bleeding a lot.”

Dipper’s uncle dabbed the wound with a rag. “It won’t be for very much longer.”

Ford rolled his chair back to a drawer and pulled out suture thread and a needle.

“You’re gonna stitch me up?” Dipper asked, half-nervous and half-excited.

“Mm-hmm,” Ford nodded, smiling faintly. “Your shirt’s already pretty bloody, and I don’t want to accidently stitch through it, so you should probably take it off,”

Dipper welled up with anticipation. He fantasized quite often about undressing in front of his uncle, but he never thought it’d be under these circumstances. Then again, a situation like this made much more sense than the ones in his head.

The only thing he had to say in protest was, “But I’m trans.”

Ford simply laughed. “I know that, Dipper. Stan and your sister told me.”

Dipper looked at him, wordless and mouth agape. “You aren’t mad or anything?”

“Why would I be?” he smiled. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my day, Dipper. This doesn’t shock me at all--trans people exist. It’s part of life. Now take your shirt off, please, I don’t want you to lose anymore blood.”

The teen did as told. “What about--?” he vaguely asked, gesturing to his binder.

“That too,” Ford said, nodding. “Wearing it already increases the risk of injury to your ribs, combine that with the current situation and there’s only so much more danger. If you wouldn’t mind,”

Dipper nodded, starting to pull it off. He felt nervous about the Author seeing his breasts but tried to play it cool. He winced, however, when he lifted his arms. “Hurts,” he moaned.

“Here,” Ford offered, gently pulling the binder off himself. Dipper shivered despite himself, the feeling of his uncle’s big, warm fingertips against his skin making his hair stand on end.

It was much more intimate than it should’ve been, and Dipper both cursed himself for feeling aroused and praised whatever god existed that he wasn’t able to pop a boner.

The wet warmth in the crotch of his boxer briefs wasn’t too comfortable, though.

After threading the needle, Ford pressed it to his nephew’s skin. “Ready?”

Dipper took a deep, husky breath. “Ready.”

He pushed the needle through and took it from the other side, looping it and repeating the process. Like stitching in general, it was a very repetitive series of motions. That didn’t stop the tickling against Dipper’s skin from feeling orgasmic.

That and the cold air on his exposed chest. It felt naked and raw and intimate. His nipples hardened and he gushed between his legs. His slit tingled and he felt this _push_ and everything he wanted was for the Author’s fingers to graze over his breasts, squeeze them and play with them.

Dipper had to bite back a moan.

He was visibly enjoying this, much to his dismay. Ford could clearly see the sheen of sweat across the fifteen-year-old’s face, his eyes half-lidded and his lip bitten in a wanton smile. He almost looked like he was puffing his chest out, almost _begging_ for his uncle to touch him there.

Ford just rolled his eyes, groaning in fake exasperation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm almost in college, i'm way too old to go trick-or-treating.
> 
> anyway, happy halloween. *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧


	31. Excessive Gashes + Torture

Morty and Summer Smith were Rick’s sex slaves. Rick’s property.

He sits at his throne, his two little pets at his sides, naked except for their harnesses and leashes. Rick smooths his palms down his pets’ hair, patting their backs with his cold hands.

“Daddy’s got a new job for you today.”

Rick gets off his throne and kneels in front if it, tapping his thigh for his pretty little pets to approach him. He pulls out a sleek, sexy looking knife that glimmers in the faint basement light.

“Which one of you wants to be cut up first?”

Summer perks her head up first, eager to please her master. “I do, Master,”

Rick smirks evilly. “Good girl, Summer. Kneel for daddy,”

The girl does as told, her hands up at her chest like a cat. She tips her head up, giving her master full access to her naked throat.

The man teases her with the blade first, grazing it lightly over the supple skin of her throat, pressing just enough for her to feel it but not enough for it to pierce the skin.

He taps it to the top of her throat, warning her generously before pushing it in and pulling the knife down, cutting her windpipe open and exposing it ever so beautifully. Rick pushes two fingers into the girl’s straining throat. She struggles to keep herself upright.

“You want a go next, Morty?”

The boy nods fearfully, with no other choice.

He crawls slowly up to his master, on all fours. Rick instructs him to kneel, just as his sister did, and he does just that. This time, Rick, presses the blade to his chest. Instead of cutting deep, he makes light, pretty incisions all across his breast. The vertical pattern drips blood all the way down the boy’s soft stomach.

Rick drags two fingers across the fresh cuts and holds them up to his pet. “Lick them clean.”

Morty whimpers and leans in, taking the long bony fingers into his mouth and sucking the blood off of them. His master nods in approval.

Summer’s suffocating, withering body bleeds out on the floor, tears leaking from the empty eyes.

“You see your sister?”

Morty nods.

“Pick up her body and fuck her throat.”

He hesitates for a second, then does as told, not wanting to meet the same fate as Rick’s other pet. It takes a second for him to get it up, but once he does, he presses the tip to the dead body’s lips.

“No you don’t,” Rick snaps. “Her _throat_.”

Morty stammers for just a moment, then swallows his fear. He presses the tip of his swollen cock to his sister’s slit throat. He moans in agony and disgust but closes his eyes, which are now welling with tears, and thrusts into the warm, bloody gash.

Once he starts he can’t stop. It’s so _warm._

He thrusts in harder, faster, already so close to cumming; so engulfed in sensation.

“Good boy,” Rick praises.

That’s all it takes to push him over the edge. He pulls on his sister’s hair and forces her wound down on his dick, fucking into it forcefully, grunting and whining loudly as he does so.

“Oh, _oh,_ ”

Just then, Rick rips the body away from his pet, leaving him to sob at the ruined orgasm.

“You don’t cum until I tell you to.”

Morty starts crying.

“Lie down,” his master orders.

The boy does as told.

Rick teases Morty’s skin with a new knife. He drags it lightly across his chest, circling his nipples and pressing against the drying wounds. Morty moans in pain and need to cum.

“Hold still.”

Abruptly, the old man plunges the knife into his pet’s chest. Morty cries out in agony, his wail echoing in the desolate basement.

He’s voiceless now, hot tears falling down the side of his face.

Rick starts to jerk the dying boy’s straining cock. “You can cum now.”

He sobs in pain and the knowledge that these are his last moments. He lets it resolve in the fact that he’ll be spending his last moments pleasing his master.

“Yes, Master,” he barely breathes, before convulsing and cumming all over himself.

“Good boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that wraps up this month-long challenge!
> 
> this was very time-consuming and after a while, exhausting, but it was fun nonetheless - so i'd say it's worth it. this month was pretty fruitful in terms of content, but i'm definitely gonna be slowing it down come november.
> 
> that's not to say i won't be producing fic anymore, it just won't be as frequent as it's been this month. i've already got a multi-chaptered fic in the works, and a few one-shots, but they'll be a lot more spread out.
> 
> thank you all for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting on this, as well as my other fics! it really does mean a lot, knowing that i have people who read my works, and it gives me a reason to keep writing all this sinful garbage.
> 
> happy halloween to all--i hope everyone had a great october! i know i did. signing off.


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